The More Things Change
by Old School Fan
Summary: It's TNA in 2010, not WCW in the late 90's but history does have a way of repeating itself. Ric is trapped in a loveless relationship. Sting gets another shot at happiness. Can he reclaim his lost love? Hulk struggles to say those 3 little words.
1. Chapter 1

Ric

I sigh as I stand in front of the mirror of my dressing room, the belt of my gold sequined robe cinched around my thickening middle. My hair, gelled and lifeless, is combed back meticulously in a vain attempt to cover a growing expanse of pink scalp. I really should do something about it, I 'm thinking just as Terry comes up behind me, puts his arms around my waist, and kisses the side of my neck. I try not to shudder at his touch.

"Ready for your match, beautiful?," he sneers. The mocking way he calls me beautiful is a reminder that he finds me anything but.

"I guess," I reply, my voice barely audible. I stare at our reflections, pondering how time has played a cruel trick on me. I really am looking my age, tired and haggard, while Terry's face, though lined, is as handsome as ever. But his eyes are cold. So cold. He brings his lips to my neck once more. His arms tighten around me. "Terry," I whisper, trying to free myself from his grasp. "I can't. I have to go out there soon and ..."

"We have time," he tells me. He flings me toward the tan leather couch. "Now take off your robe."

"But Terry," I begin to protest, then stop when a flicker of rage crosses his face. I swallow hard, my hands at the belt, but I hesitate a moment too long.

"Take it off," he commands. His voice is harsh. There's not a hint of warmth or affection. I do as I'm told, my body trembling, my heart breaking. He's undressing as I pull off the rest of my ring attire. Boots, socks, kneepads, and trunks all litter the floor and as I stand naked before him, he regards me with open disdain. My tears come easily. They always do. He doesn't love me – that much I've always known. He makes use of my body whenever he likes, but he will never love me.

I offer no resistance when he shoves me onto my back, flings my legs over his shoulders and enters me roughly, without preparation. I close my eyes, straining to recall the last time I was touched with anything resembling love and sex didn't feel like rape. I bite back sobs, but my tears flow like rivers.

It's over mercifully quick. He dresses in a hurry and as I lay motionless on the couch, he looks down at me, his mouth twisted with scorn. "Try to make yourself look decent. You're on in fifteen minutes."

He leaves and I stand up slowly, trying to walk on unsteady legs. I clean myself up as best I can, smooth back my hair, and put on my attire. Somehow, I have to perform tonight. I have to be what everyone expects me to be, but all I see when I look in that mirror is an aged, broken shell of what I used to be. This time I don't hold back. I sob uncontrollably. I can't go on like this. I just can't.

I don't hear him come in, but he's there suddenly with his arms around me in a loving, protective embrace. I bury my face in his chest, seeking comfort in his arms the way I did so many years ago. Steve is older now and a few pounds heavier. His hair has thinned and there are a few more lines on his face, but his eyes are kind. Gentle. Just the way I remember them. "Don't cry, baby," he croons softly, "I always hated it when you cried."

"I'm okay, really" I say, trying to collect myself. I manage a weak smile. "I'm just a little nervous about going out there tonight. Silly, I know, after all these years."

"Don't." He presses a finger to my lips to silence me. "You don't have to pretend with me. I _know_ you. Look, I just saw Hogan leave out of here. He did something to upset you, didn't he?"

I hear my music. It's show time. "I gotta go," I tell him, giving him a pleading look. "Please don't do anything rash. If you still have any feelings left for me, you'll leave it alone."

I rush toward the curtain, prepared to go to the ring. Terry and Eric are off to the side, having a hushed conversation. They stop when they see me. Eric snorts. Terry's lips form a familiar smirk. He says quite loudly, "Trust me, boys, Space Mountain is not that great of a ride and as you can see, it can use a few repairs."

I freeze. My heart sinks as I realize that all activity around me has stopped. The backstage crew, various members of the roster - if they didn't know about me and Terry already, they know now. I expect to be bombarded with gales of laughter. Instead, I receive something worse – pitying glances. My lip quivers and I know that I'm about to break down again. AJ, God bless him, looks like he wants to defend me, but thinks better of it. No doubt the pressure of a mortgage and providing for a young family put an end to any thoughts of gallantry. He looks at me apologetically. I nod, fighting to maintain my composure. Surprisingly, it's Kevin Nash who pats my arm encouragingly and nudges me through the curtain.

My performance is dismal, at least I think so, but the fans don't seem to notice. A chorus of boos and a few cheers rain down on me. For a few fleeting moments, it's 1986 again and I'm America's top heel.

I return backstage to find Steve doing the one thing I begged him not to do. He's in Terry's face and all hell is about to break loose. Quite a few onlookers have gathered to witness a fight. Thank God for Mick Foley who acts as the voice of reason and steps in between them. He manages to somehow get the situation under control. I breathe a sigh of relief. Disaster averted, at least for now.


	2. Chapter 2

Steve

After the show, I head for the bar. Alone. I haven't touched alcohol in years, but I'm suddenly tempted to take a drink. Just one little drink to help numb the pain. Ric's face haunts me. Blue eyes that used to sparkle now stare bleakly at the world around him. Empty, hollow, drained of all vigor. I'm seized by a pang of guilt upon realizing just how much I had failed him.

"Mind if I join you?" I look up to see Kevin Nash, all six-foot-ten of him, standing before me. Great, him, of all people.

"Sure," I say without enthusiasm. "Why not?"

He lowers himself into a chair opposite me. He looks at my glass, frowns.

"Club soda," I inform him. He nods approvingly.

"You doing okay?," he asks.

"What do you think?," I mutter, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah I know. Stupid question, right?" He rakes a hand through long gray hair. Gray hair. God, when did we all get so old? "Steve," he says, "I just want you to know that I'm here if you need me."

"Hogan's got that bitch trained, doesn't he?" I hurl the quote back at him like a grenade.

Kevin flinches in recognition of the heartless words he taunted me with years ago. He looks away, embarrassed. "I was a real prick back then."

"Yeah you were."

"Look man, I'm sorry. I said and did a lot of things that I wish I could take back. I let success go to my head and it ruined me. Ruined Scotty too." I stare at him for a moment, deciding from the pain on his face at the mention of Scott Hall that he is being sincere.

"How _is_ Scott?"

"You've seen him."

"That bad, huh?"

Kevin nods wearily. He bites his lip, seems to be struggling to keep his emotions in check. "He's all messed up inside," he chokes out, "and I don't know how to help him anymore. I always thought that if I loved him enough..." His voice trails. I reach across and touch his hand. He offers me a small smile, grateful for the gesture. Lifting his chin determinedly, he continues, "It's hard, you know? Loving an addict. There are times when I want to walk away and not look back, but I just can't bring myself to do it. I love Scotty too much to abandon him and I'll never stop loving him."

"Good for you," I tell him and I mean it. At least one of us hasn't given up the fight for love even if it does appear to be a losing battle.

"You know Steve, it's not too late for you and Ric. You still love him, right?"

"Sure," I laugh humorlessly. "He's only been on my mind for the last twenty years. Doesn't matter though. He's too far gone. Too much has happened to him. And besides, on some level, I think he actually loves Hogan."

* * *

Ric

We're back at the hotel. The Marriott. Penthouse suite. A splurge given Terry's current financial situation, but he seems to be in a generous mood. I lay on the bed, physically and emotionally exhausted, the covers pulled to my chin to conceal my nakedness. I listen as Terry chats animatedly into his cell phone. His lighthearted laughter tells me that it must be his daughter on the other end. I've met Brooke, lovely girl, but a bit dim. A quality that comes with being sheltered by an overprotective father I suppose. I know it's wrong, but I can't help but be jealous. So much love he has for her and none for me.

He ends the conversation with "See you soon, sweetheart. I love you too. Bye."

I pretend to be asleep when he approaches the bed, but I can feel his eyes upon me and imagine their predatory gleam. The bed shifts beneath his weight as joins me, then I feel a draft as he rips the covers from my body, leaving me exposed and vulnerable. Before I have a chance to react, he's on top of me, his nails biting into my wrists as he pins them above my head. His lips mashes against mine. Brutal. Demanding. A kiss hard enough to bruise as he forces his tongue into my mouth. His erection is pressed against my thigh. I feel sick, but I dare not try to fight him. I know better, so I lay there like a corpse, tears of hopelessness sliding noiselessly onto the pillow. When he finally breaks the kiss, he nudges my legs apart and pushes his way inside of me. I should be used to this by now, his violent, angry thrusts. Punishment for some crime, real or imagined, that I committed against him. His face looms above mine and in the steely glint of his gaze I see it. Cold contempt. It's always been there and it's that sickening knowledge that hurts me more than anything else. He's doing this to me not because of some insatiable desire for me. He's doing this because he hates me.

* * *

Terry

He lays with his back to me, his body curled into a tight ball and convulsing with gut-wrenching sobs. For a brief moment, I feel a stab of something unfamiliar. Remorse. No, not just remorse. Shame. Something inside of me wants to reach out to him, hold him in my arms and whisper reassurances until he stops crying. But those feelings are soon replaced by ones all too familiar. Jealousy. Paranoia. Fear of losing the one thing I prize more than anything else. I snake a possessive arm around him, pulling him close so that his back is resting against my chest. The action startles him. He tenses, but doesn't pull away. I drop light kisses on his bare shoulder and that seems to relax him. After a while, his crying ceases and he falls asleep with my arm around him, purring, it seems, like a contented kitten.

I continue to kiss his shoulder, then bury my face in his neck, inhaling the intoxicating scent of him. Laying with him like this feels so good, so right. He stirs a little, mumbling something incoherent. He turns over in the bed so that we're now facing each other, but his eyes remain shut. I grab him, pull him to me, kissing his eyelids, his nose, his jaw, his soft, pink lips.

He's kissing me back, longingly, hungrily. Clinging to me, his leg wrapped around my waist. "Need you, love you..." he murmurs, his breath hot against my cheek.

Those words spoken with so much yearning are sweeter than any song I've ever heard. My heart leaps with unanticipated joy. Maybe now we can build a real relationship, one that's based on love and not control. Maybe now that he's learning to love me, I can bring myself to trust him, even show him what's truly in my heart. Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

"I love you... love you... love you." he pants between wanton kisses. I start to say it back to him. The words are formed on my lips, but before I get the chance to utter them, he cries out, "oh yes Steve... Steve... I love you."


	3. Chapter 3

Ric

Terry has barely said a word to me in days. He won't look at me. He won't even touch me, not even when I offer myself to him. I suppose I should be thankful for the reprieve, but every time he pushes me away, a bit of me dies inside. Is this all I have to look forward to? His coldness? His lack of affection? Is this what life with Terry will continue to be like?

Another town, another hotel room. He sits on the edge of the bed in his boxers, his head in his hands. I'm kneeling at his feet, trying to get him to acknowledge me. "Please look at me," I implore, my voice breaking. I sniffle forlornly. " I don't know what I did wrong."

He does look at me then, but with his usual contempt. "Don't you?"

I shake my head. "Please just tell me what I did. Give me a chance to make things right."

"How do you think you can do that, Ric?"

"I don't know," I admit helplessly. "What do you want me to do? Tell me and I'll do it. Whatever you want."

"And then?," he demands of me, "After all of that, will you love me?"

I'm taken aback by the question. Love him? I didn't think love even factored into our relationship since he's shown me so little. "That's what I've been trying to do," I reply, "but you don't make it easy." I stand and walk over to the window, press my head to the cool glass. There's a flurry of activity on the street below and I long to be away from this room, away from Terry and his emotional cruelty.

"Trying how?," he has the gall to ask. He comes up behind me, spins me around so that he's looking me dead in the eye. "How have you been trying?"

"Are you fucking blind?" I throw my hands up in exasperation. "In a number of ways, Terry. Take your pick. I make myself available to you whenever you want me. I was there for you when your son was in jail and your marriage was falling apart. I stood by you after you lost everything. I offered you my love, my companionship, my understanding. All of it. I gave you everything I had."

"Well, it wasn't much," he retorts viciously, "And do I need to remind you that your life hasn't exactly been picture perfect either? You needed me too. You still do."

"Do I?" I ask him, mustering up courage I didn't know I had. "Oh I don't think so. I left you once, years ago, and I stayed away for a long time. And you know what, Terry? I was perfectly fine without you."

"Were you? Then why did you bother coming back?"

"I've asked myself that every day, especially now that I'm starting to realize that things will never get better between us. You've never forgiven for walking out and you're still punishing me."

"Punishing you?," he laughs incredulously. "Punishing you how? By picking you up and dusting you off? By giving you a chance to start over? By helping you get a lucrative deal with TNA and breathing new life into your dead career? You're now at the center of major storylines. You're getting a lot of screen time and receiving more attention than anyone else in the company. Now why do you suppose that is?

"That's right, baby, I made it all possible. And now, thanks to me, your son has just been signed to a TNA contract. Don't ever say I don't take care of you."

"Oh you overbearing, egotistical asshole," I fume, my fists balled at my side. "You don't think I could have accomplished any of that on my own? Have you forgotten who the hell I am? I'm goddamn wrestling royalty. I'm..."

"What you are," he sneers, his face inches from mine, "is a two-bit whore who literally sold himself to anybody with any kind of power in this business. Oh I know all about it. About all the bookers and the promoters you've been with. So tell me, sweetheart, how many members of the NWA board did you have to sleep with to get the title?"

* * *

Terry

He wilts like a flower under the force of my words. His shoulders sag. He backs away from me, stricken. I couldn't have hurt him any more if I had punched him. "Is that what you really think?" His voice is small, sad. "Well then, that explains everything."

"Explains everything? Explains what? What are you talking about?," I ask. I move toward him, reaching out my hand to caress him. He shrinks away.

"Don't touch me."

With a sudden motion, I seize his wrist, pulling him to me. He struggles to free himself from my grasp, but I tighten my hold.

"Let's get a few things straight, dear," I hiss, surprised at my own anger. My cruelty. "If it wasn't for me, you'd still be waiting for McMahon to call."

"Shut up!"

"You think he still wants you? Oh you poor delusional thing, have you looked in a mirror lately?" I click my tongue in mock pity. With his free arm, he takes a swing at me, but I manage to capture his other wrist, subduing him. "I'm sure he enjoyed you back when you still had your looks, but now... not so much. He couldn't wait to get rid of you, could he? Replace you with someone younger. Prettier."

"Vince loved me," he insists stubbornly, "I know he did."

"Loved you?" I scoff. "The way Crockett loved you? The way all those other men loved you? You were beautiful once – I won't deny it. A prime piece of ass. Those men – they promised you the world just so they can have you. But it wasn't love. They wanted to own you."

"The way you want to own me, Terry?"

"What I feel for you..." I hesitate not sure how to continue. I look into those moist, blue eyes. See the misery on his aged visage. Beautiful once and, in some ways, beautiful still. His warmth, his sweetness. I lightly brush my lips against his. "What I feel for you is something I can't even begin to describe."

"You hate me."

"Sometimes," I admit.

"And you think I'm your whore, so that makes it alright to force yourself on me."

"After all I've done to help you and your son, you should be more than willing to show me your gratitude."

"And what if I refuse?"

"I think we both know the answer to that," I tell him and I take no pleasure in doing so. "You refuse me and see how fast it all goes away."

* * *

Ric

It would all be so comical if it wasn't so tragic. History repeating itself. Terry in a position of power and me being forced to submit to his will. I don't know whether to laugh or cry. "Oh Terry, same old predictable Terry. Still resorting to blackmail. Some things never change."

"Call it what you want, but you remember one thing. You belong to me, so whatever thoughts you're having about Vince, Steve Borden, or any other man, you'd best forget about them."

He kisses me once more, then goes into the bathroom. The door closes behind him and I hear the shower running. Left alone to ponder my predicament, I sink to the floor under the weight of my despair, hugging my knees to my chest. Every single word he said is true. He now holds my future and my son's future in his hands. I no longer have the option of walking away from him. I am trapped and we both know it. Oh dear God how did it ever come to this?


	4. Chapter 4

Steve

The night of a pay-per-view is always filled with nervous energy. Young guys wanting to prove themselves and hopefully ascend higher up the ladder. Old guys, myself included, wanting to maintain our spots for however long we can. I put a black t-shirt on over my singlet to hide my deteriorating physique. What used to be solid muscle is now giving way to flab. I stand in front of the mirror applying my trademark black and white face paint. Some of it becomes embedded in the growing number of creases on my face.

Believe it or not, in a business where appearance can make or break you, I have no problem growing old. Okay, so maybe that's not entirely true. The injuries take much longer to heal these days. My shoulder still gives me problems, making it impossible for me to lift weights the way I used to. I consider myself lucky though. I'm still here while so many of my wrestling brethren have been taken from this earth way too soon.

How much longer can I continue to wrestle? Another year? Two years? I have enough money to retire today and live quite comfortably if I choose to. I was on the verge of doing just that, but Ric Flair just had to come to TNA and change everything.

His first night here, he appeared nervous and unsure of himself. He scanned the sea of faces, old and new, before finally focusing on mine. I immediately rushed over to him and he threw himself into my arms.

"Steve... oh Steve..." His eyes misted. "It's so good to see you again."

"Good to see you too. " After a long embrace, I released him and stepped away so I could get a good look at him. He had aged quite a bit since we had last stood together on Nitro nearly ten years ago, but somehow he was still the same Ric, my Ric. His blue eyes were as entrancing as ever though a bit tired. "You're the reason I'm staying," I said to him.

I took him around the locker room, introducing him to the young boys who grew up watching him but never had the pleasure of actually meeting him. "Here he is," I told them, "the guy that put me on the map." They stared at him in awe, the way I did so many years ago when I met Ric Flair for the first time . They shook his hand with great enthusiasm, told him how much they admired him and how much they looked forward to working with him. Ric glowed from the praise. He graced them all with a beatific smile, told them that he was the fortunate one to be surrounded by such eager young men.

From that moment, the boys were dazzled. Ric held court in the locker room, regaling them with tales from his glorious past, making them laugh with some pretty amazing road stories. I sat listening to him, watching him come alive. This was Ric the way I remembered him – this radiant being who attracted admiring looks from all around.

I noticed Hogan standing in the doorway of the locker room, arms folded across his chest, watching us watching Ric. His eyes seemed to bore into us, his mouth a grim line of suppressed fury. It was the last time Ric ever set foot inside that locker room.

* * *

Ric

Seems like no matter how many years I perform, the butterflies never go away. I'm so nervous I can't stay still. My dark blue sports coat hangs on a hook and I'm pacing inside my private dressing room, which to me feels like a prison cell. Terry's idea. He wants me away from the rest of the boys, insists that I have minimal contact with them. Whenever I come to work, I do my bit for the camera and return to my dressing room where I remain until I'm needed for another segment. The door is usually locked, unless Terry simply forgets to lock it, which has happened on occasion.

Beads of sweat form on my forehead and I dab at it with a tissue. The sound of voices just outside my door makes my whole body go rigid. The door opens & Terry's overwhelming presence fills the room. Eric enters behind him, an awful little man with close cropped gray hair and a permanent look of smug superiority on his face.

"Ah Ric, always a pleasure," Eric grabs my hand, brings it to his lips. I snatch it away as if I've been scalded. He leers at me, his eyes roaming up and down my body as if he's mentally undressing me. "I remember a time when you welcomed my kisses and everything else I did to you."

I shudder with revulsion. To my surprise, Terry fixes his longtime friend with a hard stare. "I can't stop you from looking, but I sure as hell won't tolerate you touching what's mine."

"Yours and everybody else's," Eric snickers. "He's had more pricks in him than a pin cushion."

I feel the color rise in my cheeks. When Eric steps away from me, I make a dash for the door, but Terry's voice stops me in my tracks. "Get back over here, Ric."

Thoroughly humiliated and frustrated, I return to where Terry is standing, my head lowered. He tilts my chin up, kisses me softly, then says with what sounds like remorse, "Eric is here to see a show and we're going to give him one. Take off your clothes."

"No," I shake my head in disbelief. "Terry, no."

He sighs. "Please baby, don't argue with me. Just take them off." He sounds defeated, not like my Terry at all.

I stand motionless, looking from Terry's pained expression to Eric's arrogant one.

"It'll be alright, I promise," Terry says. Who is he trying to convince? Me or himself?

I back away from my tormenters, hugging myself protectively. Much to Eric's satisfaction, I can't stop the tears from coming. I try appealing to the man who is supposed to be my protector. "Please don't make me do this, Terry. If you love me..." I stop myself, realizing how stupid that sounds.

"Come on, Ric, don't make this harder on yourself. Let's just get this over with."

"Better listen to him," Eric taunts me, "You know what will happen if you refuse."

I don't have any choice. With trembling hands, I begin removing my clothes. Through my tears, I see Terry is also getting undressed. His body is deeply tanned, his arms bulging with muscles. Eric's jeans and underwear are at his ankles. He is reclining in a chair, ogling me, his jaw slack as he strokes himself to erection.

Terry takes me in his arms, tenderly kisses my lips, my throat ... his large hands sliding down my back and cupping my bottom. "Baby," he whispers huskily, "give yourself to me. I want all of you."

"Not like this..." I whimper, "please not like this."

"He's not here," he whispers back, kissing my tear-stained cheek. "Forget about him. Just focus on me, baby. Look at me. He's. Not. Here."

I look into his eyes, eyes that for once appear warm, gentle. Doe eyes. Somewhat reassured, I nod my compliance, shutting my eyes against the tears as he pins me against the wall, his mouth capturing mine in a deep, passionate kiss, his tongue exploring every inch of my mouth. His hardening cock is rubbing against mine, creating a delicious friction. I wrap a leg around him, thrusting my hips, clinging to this man, moaning, aching with desire for him.

When our lips part, he licks at the hollow of my throat, licks a trail down to my chest, his eager mouth fastening around my nipple. He flicks his tongue over it, sucks it. "Oh God, Terry" I moan. "I want you... need you.."

He pulls away from me and when our eyes meet, his is darkened with lust. I'm faintly aware of the animalistic sounds coming from Eric, but manage to block them out, focusing all my attention on Terry.

He takes my hand, escorts me over the couch, and lays me gently on my back the way he prefers me. His eyes sweep over my body and I spread my legs, shivering with anticipation under the intensity of his gaze. "Give it to me, big man," I pant. "Give me all you got."

He disappears for a second and returns with lube. I stare transfixed at his engorged cock, licking my lips, as he coats it generously. This time he lowers his huge body onto me carefully, slowly inching his way inside. I wrap my legs around his waist, and arch my hips so that all of him is filling me, completing me.

He begins moving inside of me, slowly at first, then faster... harder, angling his thrusts so that he's hitting my spot. I grit my teeth to keep from screaming out, but I grind myself onto his cock, raise and lower my hips so that I'm meeting his thrusts. Flesh smacks against flesh. The pressure within me builds. I need release.

Terry shoots his load and it's over just like that. Son-of-a-bitch.

He withdraws his softening thing from me and stands over me, grinning. "Damn baby, that was good. Well, I gotta get going. Last minute meeting with Russo. You know how it is."

Terry dresses in a hurry while I'm left laying frustrated, my neglected arousal still throbbing, and fresh tears filling my eyes. When Terry leaves, Eric, to my dismay, remains. He's standing over me now, naked, rock hard, and ready to fuck.

I say nothing when he enters me. We both get our release. I don't expect him to hold me afterward, but it would have been nice.

"Poor Ric," Eric shakes his head, "still looking for someone to love you."

"Please go, Eric. Just go."

He shrugs, gathers up his clothes, and starts to dress. I peel myself off of the couch, sticky with sweat and semen, and head for the shower stall. As I'm scrubbing myself, I try not to think about what just happened. I have to go out there with AJ tonight and I have to look my best. Well, as good as I can manage to look these days anyway.

When I emerge from the shower, Eric is gone.

Steve, however, is standing there looking sexy as hell in full Sting costume.


	5. Chapter 5

Steve

I take slow strides towards Ric, my eyes traveling shamelessly over a voluptuous figure that glistens with moisture. Those tanned, shapely legs. The lean curve of his hips. The slightly rounded belly. Those pert little nipples that stick out on the smooth mounds of his chest.

"Hogan should be more careful about locking this door," I tease. "You never know who might wander in here and find you naked." My lust filled gaze drops to the dormant sex between his legs.

"Oh my God...Steve...what are you doing?," he gasps, quickly fastening his towel around his waist, shielding his more delectable parts from view.

"No need for modesty, doll. I've seen it all before, although," I muse, circling around to admire him from all angles, "there is more of you to look at than there used to be."

He blushes in that adorable way he does when he's embarrassed.

"Trust me," I grin, putting my arms around him. "it a good thing. I'm loving your plump little body, especially that ass. I'm really loving that ass."

Ric glances nervously at the door. "You shouldn't be here."

"There's nowhere else I'd rather be." I kiss the thin, damp wisps of his platinum hair. "You don't know how much I've missed you."

"You miss who I used to be," he replies sadly. "I'm not that person anymore."

"You are in the ways that matter." My mouth covers his. My body is pressed against him and even through layers of fabric, I can feel the heat emanating from that naked, tantalizing flesh. He doesn't kiss me back, but he's not pushing me away either. I take this as encouragement to go further. I undo the towel and it falls to the floor. One of my hands grips that bountiful ass, the other drifts between his thighs, caressing his balls, giving his sex long, languid strokes.

"Steve... no.. please... oh...please..." He's half pleading, half moaning into my mouth. Wanting me to stop. Not wanting me to stop. When our lips part, I lick my index finger, coating it with saliva. Then ghosting a trail down his crack, I find his little pucker and trace lazy circles around it. Dipping my finger in partially only to pull it away. Barely touching, teasing his entrance, then pulling away.

He spreads his legs for me, pressing his smooth buttocks against my palm, practically begging for it. This time, when I put my finger to his hungry, quivering hole, he pushes back, devouring my digit into his snug heat and begin savagely fucking himself on it, driving his hips with a mad frenzy. Begging for more... more.

"Such a greedy little slut," I growl into his ear. "One of the things I've always loved about you."

I insert another finger and another. Three long fingers working their way in and out of him, prodding that sensitive bundle of nerves while he moans breathlessly, rocking, thrusting, his head thrashing in abandon. When his body tenses, I sense that he's ready, know that he's about to cum in my hand.

It's at this moment, when he's on the brink, that I squeeze the head of that lovely, swollen cock and withdraw my fingers from his opening. I feel a sense of empowerment, some wicked satisfaction when his face crumples in dismay. His trembling lower lip forms a pout. "Stevie, please...I need to cum... I need this..." How can I refuse when he begs so prettily?

I kiss his nose and the corner of his mouth, then sinking to my knees, I kiss and lick at his hard, straining sex before taking him balls deep into my mouth. Ric, his eyes closed, moans and begins pumping his hips furiously, caught between the dual pleasure of my suckling mouth sliding up and down his pole and the probing fingers stuffed deep inside his man cunt. Such sexy little noises he makes as he grinds himself onto my fingers, the tension mounting, his ass cheeks clenching around the digits. When his legs start to buckle, I hold him steady, sucking him vigorously until he cries out his release and his delicious cum fills my mouth at last. I swallow every precious drop and peer up at his flushed face. That's when I notice the tears.

I'm immediately on my feet, wiping the tears from his cheek with the pad of my thumb.

"Talk to me, doll," I say softly, concerned that I am somehow the cause of his distress. "Tell me what's wrong."

"Steve, you really should go. I-I have to get ready now."

For a brief, meaningful moment, we stare at one another, his watery gaze filled with longing, sorrow, and regret. I wrack my brain for something profound to say. I go with what's in my heart. "All of these years, Ric... I never stopped loving you."

"I don't want to hear this." He averts his eyes as if it hurts too much to look at me.

"Well, I need you to hear it. Please," I implore, grabbing his hand, "if I don't say this now, I may lose my nerve."

"Steve," he says with quiet resolve, "what happened between us tonight was a mistake. Nothing like this can ever happen again."

"Don't do this, Ric. Don't push me away. There are too many unresolved feelings between us. We have too much history together. Damn it, Ric, I still love you."

"That's great, Steve," he responds, his voice wavering, "but there's just one little problem. I don't love you anymore. I thought I did, but I don't. I-I love Terry."


	6. Chapter 6

Terry

"Terry please, I don't feel so good. I want to leave now."

It's minutes, just minutes, before Ric is supposed to step through that curtain with AJ Styles and he's trying to bow out. He's clutching my arm and speaking in an urgent, pleading tone. Meanwhile, AJ is standing there in his blue feathered robe, genuine concern for Ric ruffling his handsome young features. I realize that during the months they've spent working closely together, the two of them have forged a tight bond. Ric absolutely adores this kid while AJ views Ric as some sort of nurturing father figure.

"You know your timing is pretty bad, sweetheart," I say, but I take one look at Ric's red, puffy eyes and I know that there's no way he can appear on camera. He looks as if he's spent most of the night crying.

"Hey, it's all good," AJ is saying. He places his hands on Ric's shoulders and gives them a little squeeze. "You go back to your room and get some rest. Frankie can go out there with me."

"Are you sure?" Ric asks fretfully. He is adjusting the front of AJ's robe and appears to be having second thoughts.

"Yeah, I'm sure. Having Frankie accompany me to the ring will help further our storyline. It's perfect."

As if on cue, Frankie Kazarian, whom Ric affectionately calls "movie star" because of his dark, matinee idol looks, appears. I glare at Frankie when he flashes Ric one of his easy, confident smiles. "Don't worry baby, we got this."

Vince Russo looks like he's on the verge of a nervous breakdown when I barge into his office and find him there with Eric. I inform him that there has been yet another change to tonight's show, that Ric would not be appearing.

"Fine, whatever." Russo's gritting his teeth, trying to maintain what little control he has these days. "Any other changes you want me to make to a show I've spent all week revising?"

"Actually, there is," Eric says smugly.

I leave Eric to handle Russo. My full attention is on Ric who looks perfectly miserable and pale beneath his perma tan. With an arm curled protectively around his waist, I escort him from the building.

The taxi ride to the hotel passes in silence. I glance over at Ric, start to say something and think better of it. Instead, I reach over and stroke his hand while he stares straight ahead, his mind seemingly a million miles away. I can't help but notice the cab driver sneaking glances at us through the mirror. Perhaps, he's filing away his observations for later use. Maybe, he's contemplating blackmail. _You just try it, mister._

When we arrive at the hotel, the driver gets out with us. He's a short, fat little thing, a few years younger than myself and, goddamn him, he has a luxurious mop of black hair, obviously dyed. I glower at the little toad, but he doesn't seem to notice me. He's fixing Ric with a gap-toothed grin.

"I can't believe I'm here with _the _Ric Flair," he says excitedly in heavily accented English. He extends a chubby hand with sausage-like fingers to Ric. "I'm Félix and I been a huge fan of yours for a long time."

My eyes travel from Félix's multiple chins to a swollen gut that hangs sloppily over the waistband of his jeans. A _huge_ fan indeed. Ric, never one to turn away a fan, forces a smile and shakes the offered hand.

* * *

Ric

Once inside our modest room, Terry slowly strips down to black silk boxers and gingerly gets onto the bed, grimacing with even the slightest movement.

"You're hurting," My eyes sweep over him worriedly.

"Nah, I'm fine," he responds, "it's you I worry about." He pats the space next to him. "Come, lay with me."

I do as he says, stripping down for the second time that night. When I join him in bed, he rolls carefully onto his side so that he can look at me. He places a hand on my thigh, strokes it. The day's activities are catching up to me and in the comfortable silence of this room, I feel my eyes grow heavy. Terry's mustachioed mouth kisses my lips. It's sweet, gentle and when I stare into his eyes I see something foreign and unfamiliar. Love.

Or maybe I'm just tired.

"Do you know what I want more than anything else in the world?" Terry asks me.

"No, what?"

"You. On some deserted island. Or in some strange country. Maybe a cozy cabin surrounded by acres and acres of lush land. Someplace secluded. Just you and me, Ric. No Eric. No Steve Borden. No one to distract me from you."

"Terry..."

"I want to start all over, Ric. I want a new life with you. No nagging wives or ex-wives. No kids causing us heartache. Now baby, I haven't told anyone this, but I've been making plans for the future. I have some money stashed away, a lot of money – I'm talking millions in foreign bank accounts that Linda and her lawyers knew nothing about. Not even Eric knows about it. Baby, it's enough for us to live out the rest of our days on."

The more he talks the more animated he becomes. I see the old fire in his eyes. He's transforming into the Terry I haven't seen in years.

"You're crazy."

"Yes baby, I am crazy. I am crazy about you. Come on, we can do this. We can go somewhere, anywhere you want, and start over."

There's a dogged determination in his expression. Somehow he's managed to convince himself that running away is the answer. "Oh my God, you're serious about this, aren't you? Terry... Terry, we really need to think this thing through. There are so many things to consider. We have to be reasonable here."

"I am being quite reasonable. I'm tired, Ric. Tired of dealing with the stress. The media. My ex-wife. The fiancé that I never should have proposed to in the first place. The friends that I'm not even sure are my friends. Everyone with their hand out. Everyone expecting things from me. It took me a long time to realize that you are the one person in my life who never wanted anything from me except my love."

"But what about your children?," I argue. "Don't you want to be there for them? And they may give you grandchildren someday. Don't you want to be a part of their lives?"

"It's a sacrifice I'm prepared to make. Believe me, I've thought long and hard about this. Look Ric, I will always love my children, but I just don't like them. Now that's a very hard thing for me to admit as their father, but it's the truth. I don't like my children. They're spoiled brats. Yes, even Brooke. I suspect that when I disappear, they won't give a damn as long as the money keeps coming. I'll see to it that they're taken care of. I have money put aside for college educations and an inheritance that they will only receive upon finishing college. It's a term of my will."

"Will?" I blink at Terry uncomprehending. Has he been hiding an illness from me? Is he dying? I'm suddenly gripped by fear, the very real possibility that I may be losing this man. "Oh Terry, what's happening? Why this talk about a will?"

"Because, sweetheart, tomorrow's not guaranteed for either of us. We may both end up dying in a fiery car wreck, it's possible. Or we may end up perishing in a plane crash. How's that for irony? I haven't worked out all of the details yet. All I know is that I'm willing to die for you. Are you willing to die for me?"

"I don't know about any of this. I..." My head is spinning. I swallow hard, considering what he's asking me to do. To give up the life I've built in Charlotte. My family. My friends. Everything and everyone I hold dear. It's wrong, at least that's what I know in my heart to be true. But my heart is also pulling me towards Terry, towards an uncertain future with this complicated, impossible man who I've come to love deeply through the years. This strong, solid man who I've given myself to for so long. "Terry," I say quietly, "before I make this decision, there is something you need to know and once I tell you, it may change the way you feel about me. Something happened tonight and ..."

"I forgive you."

"Huh?" I gasp, shocked.

"I'll forgive you Steve if you forgive me Eric."

"But how did you know?"

"It doesn't matter," he replies placidly, "Nothing that happened before right now matters. Like I said, we'll start over. Clean slate. The past is the past and I'm going do what I should have been doing all along. I'm going to spend the rest of my life proving my love to you. Now, my darling, when do you want to die?"


	7. Chapter 7

Steve

I watch Ric effortlessly turn on the charm, thrilling the excited fans who approach the table with pictures, programs, and other wrestling memorabilia for him to sign. He signs everything, even the surgically lifted breasts of some well-preserved sixty-something grandma who is disappointed that he hasn't the vaguest idea who she is. She mentions a date, a place, but Ric gives her a blank stare. I take it that this is one of the women he had been with on the road when he felt like "being the man." Defeated, she slinks off, shoulders sagging worse than her breasts should have been. If somebody's hot mama is called a MILF, what does that make grandma here?

After GILF's departure, another old lady walks up to the table. On the outside she may look like the biggest prude – the librarian type complete with horn rimmed glasses, blouse buttoned at the throat, and hair pulled severely back into a bun – but I suspect that beneath it all, she's a raging sex machine, a woman with intense sexual urges. Oh yes, I can just envision her spending countless nights pleasuring herself with her hand while her imagination takes her to Space Mountain. _Dream on, sister_, I smirk. I've had the real thing and I know for a fact that Ric thinks it's better to receive than to give.

"What's your name, honey?," Ric asks the matronly masturbator, his voice oozing promises of fine wine and good times. He grabs her blue veined, pussy pleasing hand and brings it to his lips. Eww. I think I threw up in my mouth a little.

"Millicent," The old gal blushes to the roots of her steel gray hair. Matronly masturbator Millicent. Try saying that five times fast.

When he's done with her and I approach the table, he doesn't miss a beat. The practiced smile remains firmly in place.

"Hello, Steve," he says between clenched teeth. "What can I do for you?"

My disguise of baseball cap and oversized sunglasses obviously worked because I went through that long line without being recognized by even the most obsessed wrestling fans. I show him my pass. "I paid my money, so I get a picture with you," I say slyly.

He appears both impatient and mortified, but he complies. Right now would be the perfect opportunity to lay public claim to him by sticking my tongue down his throat. Instead, I simply place a casual arm around his waist and smile for the camera. After the photographer takes our picture, I lean over and whisper in Ric's ear. "We need to talk."

"Not now," he grinds out.

"Later, my hotel room." I press a folded sheet of paper into his palm. "This is where I'm staying. When you finish up here, I expect to see you."

As I walk away, I glance over my shoulder and notice him pocketing the piece of paper. A good sign? It's as I'm making my exit that a more observant fan nudges his friend and says, "Hey, isn't that Sting?"

* * *

Ric

I don't know what I expect to gain from coming here, but as I ride the elevator up to Steve's floor, I know that this is not the beginning of something, but the end. Terry is my present and my future. Steve is one of the many ghosts of my past, the encounter in my dressing room notwithstanding.

He's dressed in black jeans and black button down shirt, his brown hair combed back, the corners of his eyes crinkling when he smiles at me. He steps aside so that I can enter and as my eyes scan the sensible, inexpensive hotel room dominated by a huge bed, I can feel Steve's eyes on me. I give an involuntary shiver. Steve chuckles.

"I'm surprised Hogan let you out of his sight."

"He's tending to business." I answer, increasingly aware of Steve's proximity to my person. I didn't think the talk he wanted to have involved his hand on my ass or his mouth on my neck. The temperature suddenly rises in the room. I pull away, flustered. "Steve, what did you want to talk about?"

"We'll get to that," he says simply, "but first you need to relax. Take off your shoes and let me take your jacket."

Even the simple act of removing my jacket leaves me feeling vulnerable. I reluctantly hand it over to him and he lays it carefully across the dresser. I hug myself, a habit of mine when faced with men that both intimidate and excite me. Steve gives me a long, contemplative look. "You know," he says, "a lesser man would have thrown you down and taken you by now."

"But you're not that kind of man. You wouldn't do that to me."

"Of course not." His tone turns bitter, acid. "I'm the good guy. The one who always does the right thing."

"Is that really so bad?" I ask him. Steve is always the perfect gentleman, a quality I find most endearing.

"It is when it gets you nothing in return. I mean, I came to you, bared my heart to you. Hell, I even gave you a sweet blow job. And when I fingered you and you made all those noises... ah man that was hot. The only thing that would have been better is if I had been slamming my dick into your cunt."

* * *

Steve

I laugh scornfully at his shocked expression. As if he hasn't heard this or worse from other men. Hell, I bet Hogan says these things to him all the time yet he _loves _Hogan, or so he claims. Apart from being an oversexed queen, he's easily more fickle than any woman. Does he love me or does he love Hogan? Was he thinking of me the first time we made love all those years ago or was it my best friend Lex?

"I'm leaving," he announces huffily. He bounds for the door, but I block his escape.

"You'll leave when I say so."

The color drains from his face. He tries to push past me, but I grab him by the arms, digging my nails into his flesh, hurting him. There's real fear on his face now. Good, I think, because fear is the only thing he responds well too. Treat him like gold and he up and leaves. Treat him like shit, intimidate him, blackmail him, rape him and he falls in love with you.

"Steve, please stop this. This isn't like you at all. Please let me go."

"I said we're going to talk, doll, so we're talking right now."

"I think you've said enough. Let. Me. Go." He struggles in my grasp and I lift him bodily and toss him onto the bed, not an easy feat when you consider my bad shoulder and the fact that my little doll isn't so little anymore. He kicks, screams, and curses. I clamp a hand over his mouth.

"Are you gonna shut the fuck up or do I have to shut you up?"

The tears. Again with the tears. Goddamn him for making me feel like a piece of shit. Immediately regretting my actions, I release him and begin making my apologies only to be kicked in the groin. Hard.

"What the fuck..you crazy bitch..." I grab my abused manhood as he leaps off the bed and stands over me, livid, blue eyes like ice.

"Don't you ever pull that shit with me again, Steve Borden. I'd expect this kind of thing from somebody else, but not you."

"Somebody else? You mean Hogan right?" Even curled in the fetal position, I can't resist that one last barb.

"You know what, Steve? You can just kiss my ass." He steps into his shoes, grabs his jacket and stalks angrily toward the door.

"Really?" I call to his back. He slams the door behind him, leaving me all alone. I guess that means no.


	8. Chapter 8

Ric

Harsh sunlight peer through the cracked blinds causing me to squint as I take in my unfamiliar surroundings. A copy of the Orlando Sentinel, the one featuring the story about Terry's beach wedding complete with photo of the smiling bride and groom, lay on the floor along with empty liquor bottles, porno magazines, and condom wrappers. I'm laying on a filthy mattress, naked and shivering, only partially covered with a dingy sheet and the air around me reeks of booze, cigarette smoke, and sex. I glare over at the man who occupies the bed. A big, hairy bastard with an enormous beer gut, mangy beard, and long greasy hair matted to his head. I struggle to recall his name and draw a blank. I think he may have introduced himself as Biff. Or maybe it was Bob.

This stranger smiles at me, revealing nicotine stained teeth while stroking his thick cock. "Ready for another go, doll?"

The cherished pet name sounds vulgar coming from this creature's mouth. I don't remember much about the night before. Just bits and pieces. Heading to the bar alone, downing drink after drink while wallowing in self-pity. I lost my wallet, or so I claimed when it was time to pay up. That was when Bob(?) came lumbering over to my side, offering to pay for my drinks. I remember sizing him up. Not much taller than me, easily over three-hundred pounds. Not handsome by any means, but he seemed friendly enough and delighted to be in my presence. More importantly, the worn leather wallet he had extracted from the pocket of his jeans was bulging with cash.

A little small talk. A few more drinks, and then... nothing. The rest of it escapes me. I don't even remember leaving the bar, let alone how I ended up in bed with this guy. Panic swells within me. I try sitting up, but a pounding headache forces me to lay back down.

"That's right, honey. You just lay there. My friend and I will do the rest." He leans over to kiss me, his pungent breath causing me to gag. I turn away, my stomach lurching violently. That's when I notice the other man standing in the doorway. This one is scrawny with a shaved head and bad skin. He also has monstrous dick that swings like a pendulum between his skinny legs.

"You remember my friend Gus there, don't you?" 'Ol fat and hairy smirks. "You two got real friendly last night. He's your biggest fan, Nature Boy. We both are."

Then that fat fuck, Bart - I suddenly remember his name is Bart - tries to kiss me again. This time, I can't hold it in and the contents of my stomach end up all over me. All over Bart. Some of it even spraying into his mouth and clinging to his beard. Bart shoves me away in disgust and Gus quickly loses interest.

"Just a washed up old drunk," Bart spits nastily. "And a broke one at that. Here," he withdraws cash from the wallet on the dresser and throws it at me, "payment for last night. You need this more than I do."

Gus shakes his head, disillusioned. I don't know what he finds more pitiful. The sight of me covered in my own vomit or me rolling over on the soiled mattress to pick up the money and counting it. Bart disappears - I assume in the direction of the bathroom and as I slowly sit upright in bed, Gus walks toward me. He's younger than I originally thought. Early thirties maybe, but life has not been good. Some sort of illness seems to have ravished him leaving his skin sallow and his cheeks sunken.

"The bathroom is down the hall. You can clean yourself up and I'll drive you where you need to go."

"Thanks," I mutter, looking away to avoid seeing the pity in the young man's eyes.

"I'm still your biggest fan," he informs me.

"My biggest fan," I repeat dully, rubbing my throbbing temples in a circular motion while trying to gather my thoughts.

"And if it means anything to you, I really enjoyed last night. Y'know, you're the only one I've met who can take all of this." He gestures proudly to his one-eyed monster.

Oh God. I launch myself off the bed, half stumbling, half running into the bathroom where I empty what remains in my stomach into the piss-stained porcelain. Bart is nowhere to be seen and I'm suprised to find that a fresh towel, washcloth and soap was placed there for me. I turn on the shower as hot as I can stand it and as I'm scrubbing myself raw, trying to erase every trace of those men from my body, I begin to cry, the enormity of my poor judgment hitting me hard. Am I hurting that bad for money and so desperate for companionship that I'm allowing strangers to ply me with alcohol? In the past, I'd been lucky. Sure, I've waken up in strange places, but always, always fully clothed. This time, I had been taken advantage of.

The fact that I don't remember the sex is a blessing, however small, because if I don't remember it, then it's like it never happened, right? I think back to the condom wrappers on the floor. At least they had the decency to use protection. Or maybe the wrappers were left over from a previous encounter - from the looks of this dump, good housekeeping doesn't seem high on Gus' and Bart's priority list. Yet I can't imagine _anyone_ willingly coming back here with either of them.

When I return to the bedroom, Gus hands me my clothes. While I'm dressing, I have to ask for my own piece of mind. "Last night - when you and Bart - did you use condoms?"

"Yeah," Gus replies. This time, he's the one having trouble meeting my gaze. "It was Bart's idea. Well, you do have a reputation and well... Bart was afraid you might have one of them STDs."

We return to the Doubletree to retrieve my belongings and check out, then it's off to the airport. During the drive, my thoughts turn to Terry who, at this moment, is on his honeymoon. No one has ever accused me of being a brain surgeon. Every decision I've ever made, whether it involved money or the parade of lovers who have marched in and out of my bed, has always ended in disaster. I had banished Steve from my life in favor of Terry and now I have neither. All of Terry's talk about our rosy future together had been just that. Talk. In the end he had chosen _her_, a woman he claimed not to have loved.

"You have a show tonight?" Gus asks, interrupting my thoughts.

"No."

"Must feel good to be going home."

"Yes, home," I say wistfully. If only I knew where that was.


End file.
